Chapter Text
The classroom was filled with the low hum of polite conversation and the scent of expensive floor wax. It was the first formal parent-teacher orientation at Petites Étoiles, and George felt like he was walking into a lions' den without his racing suit for armor.
He had insisted they go together. He had also insisted they didn't wear hats inside.
"Just look at the art on the walls, Max," George whispered, his shoulder brushing against Max’s grey cashmere sweater. "Don't stare at the other parents like they’re rivals at a driver’s briefing."
Max adjusted his posture, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "I am not staring. I am observing. That man over there has been trying to take a photo of your shoes for three minutes."
George glanced down at his loafers, then back at the room. He felt the familiar prickle of eyes on them. They were the only couple in the room whose "reveal" had involved a global press release and a world championship trophy.
The teacher, a poised woman named Madame Claire, clapped her hands for attention. "Welcome, everyone. We are so pleased to have such a... distinguished group this year. Today is about understanding the transition. For many of our children, this is the first time they are away from their domestic bubbles."
George felt a pang of guilt. Benny’s "bubble" had been a series of motorhomes and hotel suites.
As the meeting progressed into a workshop about social integration, the parents were asked to sit at the small wooden tables. George found himself perched on a chair designed for a four-year-old, his long legs tucked awkwardly to the side.
"Benny has been struggling with the concept of sharing," Madame Claire noted, drifting toward their table. "He seems to think that the red toy cars are his personal property. He calls them 'Pa's cars' and won't let the others near them."
Max let out a short, dry laugh. "He has good instincts. You don't let people overtake for free."
George closed his eyes for a second, a silent prayer for patience. "What Max means is that we’ll work on it at home. We’ve had a lot of change recently."
"He also asks quite frequently why you play 'The Game' outside," Madame Claire said, her voice dropping to a kinder, more private tone. "He told the class yesterday that his Mama and Pa are 'invisible' until they get to the car."
The air in the room suddenly felt very thin. George looked at his hands, the reality of Benny’s words sinking in. They had thought they were protecting him by keeping their heads down and their caps low, but to a three-year-old, his parents were disappearing every time they stepped into the sun.
The walk back to the parking garage was silent. George didn't put his cap back on, even though he could feel the weight of a paparazzi lens from a balcony across the street. He just kept walking, his spine stiff.
"He thinks we're ashamed, doesn't he?" George asked as they reached the car. The 2022 season was already exhausting him; the Mercedes was bouncing so hard on track that his head throbbed even now, hours later.
Max opened the passenger door for him, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "He doesn't know what 'ashamed' is yet, George. He just knows he can't see us. He told her we play 'the hide game.' He thinks his own parents are ghosts the moment we leave the apartment."
George slid into the seat, leaning his head back against the rest. The physical toll of the new cars was making his temper shorter, his anxiety higher. "I just don't want him to be a target, Max. I don't want his face on every tabloid because we wanted to go for a walk."
"He's the son of two drivers, George. He was a target the moment he legally became your kid," Max said, climbing into the driver's seat. He reached over, his hand resting briefly on George’s neck, a rare gesture of grounding. "We're so busy trying to hide from the world that we’re making him think there’s something wrong with us being together."
George looked out the window at the Monaco skyline. He was tired of the porpoising, tired of the points gap, and tired of the constant vigilance.